


You Should Leave Those Here

by HimeBeat



Series: Chemistry (College AU) [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Chemist Sherlock, College AU, Dorks in Love, Fluff, I'm just having fun with these tags, Johnlock - Freeform, Love Confessions, M/M, Moving In Together, Professor!John, Romance, Shenanigans in school grounds, Sherlock Misses John, if I ever finish that one, in chapter two, love realizations?, oh maybe some smuff, serious adult relationship stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-02-23 05:21:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13183200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HimeBeat/pseuds/HimeBeat
Summary: it was irrational, Sherlock knew that much, irrational and unfounded, he'd gone 27 years without knowing the good doctor, and he'd been just fine.then why, why did it suddenly feel so hard to go around life without John in it?it was only a week, he reminded himself, John would be back in a week, he could make it through a week, right?Get your hormones together, Holmes.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm continuing these series because why not. this time featuring a two shot with a sort-of flashback in the first chapter because I have no idea of what I was writing :D  
> also potential moving in together and smuff in chapter two? we'll see...

“Sherlock… _mmm,_ Sherlock, maybe we shouldn’t…” John tried to protest, weakly, in the short breaks Sherlock would allow them to breathe. But his conviction was flattening in face of Sherlock’s wandering fingers, now south his waist and making their way to John’s trousers. 

 

“Why not? You want this” John nodded, not denying that “and _I_ want _you,_ it’s been so long, love, come on…” he reinforced his argument by trailing down John’s neck, kissing, nibbling, _sucking_ away any traces of conscience might still have. 

 

It hadn’t been _that long,_ John tried to reason, a week? He thought, a week wasn’t that long. 

 

It had felt like a fucking eternity, though. It was the longest he’d been away from Sherlock since they had started dating, a bit over three months ago. He attended a conference in Berlin every year, John considered skipping it, seeing as Sherlock was about to finish his research and he was decidedly _not_ taking care of himself. 

But Sherlock wouldn’t have it, “I’ll be fine, John” he had insisted, “I promise you, I will eat and sleep and shower every now and again, you shan’t worry” 

 

John worried anyways.

 

 And he only went to the conference because it was one of his few chances to meet some of his medical 

friends who lived abroad. 

Sherlock had not minded at first, although he could admit John was most important in his life now, he couldn’t forget he’d gone the previous 27-ish years without the good doctor. certainly, all logic applied, he’d be just fine for seven days. 

 

He had been wrong. 

 

He should have known he would be wrong., he _craved_ John, he needed him, needed his nagging about his erratic habits, needed their coffee dates on Tuesdays, their real dates on Friday nights, their weekends together, he’d miss the sex and the kisses and holding  John and being held by John and the quiet reading in bed, or giving  John private violin concerts. He missed the whole of it. 

 

And he’d only realize just how long that week would feel the moment he arrived to the cafeteria on Tuesday afternoon. Granted, there was no good doctor waiting for him with two coffee mugs on their usual table. He felt at loss, for the last twelve weeks they’d never missed a coffee date, no matter how busy they were, no matter if school was on break, not even with Sherlock’s consuming ongoing research. 

The chemist debated whether to go back to the lab and continue working - but he couldn’t bring himself to _want to._ Tuesdays at 3pm wasn’t time for work. It was time for _John._ He couldn’t just rewire that all of sudden. 

 

The rest of that day was awful, and he returned to his flat on Baker St. early, because he found himself too distracted as to work - not worth risking a biochemical leak in a college campus - his apartment didn’t make it any better because _John_ wasn’t there. And, although they didn’t live together - something Sherlock planned on remediating soon - he’d gotten used to John’s presence all over his place, truly, he was there nearly every day, more so than Sherlock himself sometimes, and it just felt empty, _wrong,_ knowing that he wouldn’t be there for the next six days. 

 

The apartment would probably perish without John. And Sherlock couldn’t say he’d care. 

 

John had called, of course, every night, religiously, at 8pm, the time he knew Sherlock would be either getting out of the shower, reading some ancient, complicated book, or experimenting away in that improvised lab he’d created in his kitchen (a hazard, Sherlock, will blow up any minute now…). 

 

“Are you eating well?” “Yes, John” “Sherlock…” “I’ve eaten! Ask Mrs. Hudson if you don’t believe me” “I just might” and they both knew he would, so Sherlock would have to eat, at least a biscuit, in front of Mrs. H. “I miss you” would say John “Me too” wound answer Sherlock, looking at the chair across from his,  the one that was now _John’s chair._ What was this dull ache in his chest. He’d be back, soon. “but what you’re doing is important, you should focus on that” “Doesn’t mean I can’t miss you” “No, I guess…” he’d change the topic then, because he couldn’t quite explain to John - or to himself, for that matter - just how weird it felt to miss John the way he did, how irrational. And he didn’t want to be the kind of partner that’d selfishly put himself before John’s career, or his interests. 

 

Nonetheless, next time John went _anywhere_ , Sherlock would follow, even if it was in the luggage compartment. 

 

The rest of the week Sherlock forced himself to focus on his research, which was about to conclude, at a critical state as it was, not having John around was almost convenient, because he couldn’t distract himself even if he wanted to. He would still have the intrusive thoughts, of wanting John with him, of missing him, his touch, his comments on his research - which were actually quite valuable - but he’d push these thoughts aside the best he could. 

Fortunately - or unfortunately - Sherlock put the last dot on his research on Saturday afternoon, and before he could get too happy he realized he’d now have to endure the next three days without John and without work. And if had been miserable before, now it’d be pure torture.

Yet, he should be a little joyful his research was over - it was on criminology, and the tracking of certain particles and elements that could help identify criminals much more accurately, something that could truly help the folks at NSY, if they were to apply the technology correctly, he had a plan to propose it to the Met later that year, after more testing, he’d very much like to share this idea with John, he’d tell him everything about it at night. 

 

But John didn’t call on Saturday night. Nor did he text. And he didn’t reply to any of Sherlock’s text or calls.

 

Sherlock was getting sick with worry, and this was yet another effect John had on him he hadn’t expected. He knew his thoughts were irrational, but, what if something had happened to John? What if he’d been in an accident? What if he’d been poisoned? What if he’d run into a lover from the past and realized he still love them? 

 

Most irrational, perhaps; but try as he might, he couldn’t brush off the thoughts. 

He didn’t sleep, he tried calling again for the next hour or so, but it was evident nobody would pick up at the other side. 

Until, around midnight, when he was unsuccessfully trying to read a book, the universe took pity on him. 

 

A phone call came in. 

 

“Sherlock? Can you hear me?” “John? John, are you all right?” there was a lot of noise in the back, which led Sherlock to deduce John was in some sort of social place, a restaurant, or a bar, perhaps. “Shit, Sherlock? Can you hear me?” He repeated “Yes, John, I can hear you” he rolled his eyes, never a fan of people repeating themselves. John let out a sigh “Sherlock, I’m so sorry, love, I didn’t call today… everyone was coming to this pub after the conference was over and I got carried away,  still, I’m sorry, I should’ve told you, I know it’s late, but I just wanted to, I wanted to hear your voice and, I just… Sherlock, love,  are you there?” 

 

right, _words._

 

 _“Yes,_ I’m here, um, it’s all right, John, really” he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding “ I’m glad to know you’re ok, I was a bit worried” more like _sick with worry,_ but John didn’t need to know that “Are you drunk?” 

 

“No” laughed John at the other side of the line, and that sound immediately calmed the chemist down. reassuring. John didn’t _sound_ drunk, but then again, he’d never actually seen a drunk John, maybe drunk John sounded normal. “I haven’t really drunken much, we’re far from our hotel, and my German isn’t that great, I don’t want to risk getting lost here, gotta get back to you in one piece, right?” Sherlock let out a chuckle “Right, please, do” he muttered, his tone sadder than he intended, John read into it instantly “Aw, love, I know, it’s been a long week for me, too, but I’ll be back soon, yes? Just a few more days” “yes, I know, I know. I, um, I finished my research today” he commented, and he noted it had become quieter on John’s side, and Sherlock deduced he’d gone out to the street, where it was probably cold, he didn’t want John to be cold. “John…” “Sherlock, that’s amazing! Congratulations! I can’t wait to read it” he said, excitedly “Thank you, I’d love to hear your thoughts on it” he said, he heard someone calling for John at the other side “John, I don’t mean to keep you, please, go back to enjoying your night” “I enjoy talking to you” John replied, sincere. “I miss you” he continued “I can’t wait to kiss you, and hold you, and take care of you…” he muttered, in that caring, adoring voice that made Sherlock weak in the knees because, _god,_ John made him feel as if he was the most special thing in the world, he _wanted_ to be that for John, always.

 

He _loved_ John. 

And well, that was a first. 

Sherlock let out an involuntary, soft whimper at the realization. 

“John, John… I…” No, he couldn’t possibly say it now, not through the bloody phone, he wasn’t too knowledgable at the whole relationship thing, but even he knew that you didn’t do love confessions over the _bloody phone. “_ I really want you back” he said instead, and after a brief paused he added “But please, enjoy your time in Berlin, that is important, too” 

 

They talked a bit more, before Sherlock insisted on John returning to his colleges once more. John agreed, reluctant, promising he’d be back soon and that, when he returned, he’d take very, _very good_ care of his chemist. 

 

Fast forward to the next Monday at the university’s lab, where Sherlock was currently revisiting some key findings of his research, in the odd case he’d missed something. Mostly, he was just trying to keep busy, his classes for the day were finished, but he still didn’t feel like returning to an empty flat. 

 

One more day, he reminded himself, John should be back in less than 24hrs, that was doable, right? He’d managed the whole week already. 

 

 _Barely,_ but he’d made it. He was still processing his recent realization of just how deeply he felt for John, it had to be love, right? It was the scientific explanation, the combination of oxytocin, serotonin and dopamine would shoot through the ceilings at the mere _thought_ of John, he knew this all too well; chemically, he was certain it was love. 

It was the _feelings_ part he was struggling with, how was he supposed to act now, he understood love as a chemical reaction, a combination of the right hormones, but there was more to it, love was a state of mind, often shared between two people (sometimes more people, sometimes only one person experienced it) and, oh _god,_ what if John didn’t feel the same way? What if Sherlock wasn’t generating the same chemical reactions in John? 

Sherlock knew hearts couldn’t physically break - but he was sure his would if John didn’t reciprocate his feelings, if John got tired of looking after him, and his antics, Sherlock wasn’t an idiot, he knew he was manic and spoiled at times, and John didn’t seem to mind all of these things, but maybe, eventually, he’ realize how… 

 

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door, opening seconds later to reveal a tired eyed, smily doctor. 

 

“J-John?” 

“Hi, love…” it was all the blonde could manage before Sherlock knocked him on his back agains the door, hugging him, inhaling his much missed scent. John held him back, squeezing Sherlock’s back affectionately “ _god,_ I missed you” he exhaled, melting into Sherlock’s embrace. 

 

“John, John, you have no idea…” he was breathing fast, and his voice was a bit broken and just _how_ did this love thing work, was it supposed to make him feel so…so… frantic? So desperate? 

He pulled back just enough to look into John’s eyes, and a second later he dived in for a kiss, a deep, long kiss that took their breath away, Sherlock allowed them to separate just long enough to breathe, before smashing their lips together again, letting his tongue dart out, savor John, _take_ him in, as he’d missed to do the whole past week. His hands started to wander free over the doctor’s body, and he heard John moan.

Sherlock thought he rather liked that sound. He wanted more of it. 

 

Thus we arrive where we started. 

 

“Sherlock… _mmm,_ Sherlock, maybe we shouldn’t…” John tried to protest, weakly, in the short breaks Sherlock would allow them to breathe. But his conviction was flattening in the face of Sherlock’s wandering fingers, now south his waist and making their way to John’s trousers. 

 

“Why not? You want this” John nodded, not denying _that_ “and _I_ want _you,_ it’s been so long, love, come on…” he reinforced his argument by trailing down John’s neck, kissing, nibbling, _sucking_ away any traces of conscience the doctor may still have.

 

“But… but we’re at school, we shouldn’t… _god”_ he exclaimed, as Sherlock bit particularly hard on his now open shirt (when had _that._ happened?)

“it wouldn’t be the first time we indulge ourselves in school grounds” smirked Sherlock, remembering those more than inappropriate times they’d fooled around in their classroom, before the second class walked in.

Or that one time they’d almost gotten caught in the library, when John justified being on his knees because he was trying to find a book on the lower shelves. 

 

“Yes, but, but… S-Sherlock” he tried again, he found Sherlock’s hands on his hips and held him by the wrists, not forcefully, just to pause him. Sherlock stopped immediately, concern in his eyes, John smiled up at him, and he got close enough that they were breathing in each other’s air. 

 

“love, I want you, of course I do, I’ve missed you like a madman” he chuckled, and Sherlock smiled back “but I’d rather have you at home, yeah? Where we can be as _loud…”_ he paused, seductively, and leaned in to the side to breathe on Sherlock’s ear, the younger man moaned at the action “…and _creative_ as we want” he finished quietly, he tried a wink that probably went unnoticed, because he hadn’t finished the sentence when Sherlock’s lips were over his again. 

 

They were on their way within seconds. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

It wasn’t until much, much later that day that Sherlock thought back into the afternoon’s events. They’d gone back to Sherlock’s flat, they’d been _explicit_ on just how much they’d missed each other, and once - twice? - they were spent and sated, they resolved on a quiet night with Chinese takeaway and conversation. 

 

They had so much to talk about, and god, had Sherlock missed their talks, just listening to John, what he’d learned at the conference, the nitty, decidedly pointless details about John’s friends lives that could not concern Sherlock _less._ He loved all of it, he ate it all up happily because this was John, _his John,_ sharing, with him. He would probably forget all of this - he could feel it erasing as it was written - but it was all right, so as long as he could keep hearing his lover’s voice. 

 

John was now speaking from the kitchen, and Sherlock couldn’t say he was still following, his mind had wandered into other words John had used before. Tinkering, contemplating a thought he’d been having for a while now. 

 

“I’m going to unpack some stuff, I brought you something from Germany” announced John after a while, bringing Sherlock a cup of tea, placing it next to him on the table next to his chair “i’m sure you’ll like it” he smiled, and pecked Sherlock, who returned the kiss absentmindedly. 

 

“ _i’d rather have you at home…”_ John had said, and neither of them had question just _where_ home meant. Home was here, 221B Baker St., the perfectly located flat, walking distance from the university, close to Regents Park, where they would go for a walk on Sunday mornings. The apartment that was steps away from Tesco, but John would always bring bags from Sainsbury’s or Waitrose, because he absolutely _loathed_ the card and pin machine at the former store. 

 

Sherlock’s first apartment after being checked out from the rehab center, that he’d chosen because of its convenient location, and because Mycroft had approved of the neighborhood and premises, the youngest Holmes couldn’t have cared less, just as long as he could conduct his experiments and store his items, any place would do. 

But these days, with John in his life, he’d started to understand his landlady’s words when she’d say “enjoy your new home” 

In a way, it felt new, even though he’d been living there for almost three years now, it felt like _home_ now, he looked forward to going back, if he knew John was there, or would arrive soon; he enjoyed playing the violin by the window, more so when John sat in his chair as a solo audience; he enjoyed _sleeping,_ because, more often than not, John was next to him on the bed, always in contact, with an arm around him, his legs around him, _all of him_ around the chemist. 

John had his own chair in 221B, the one that Sherlock had originally designated to pile books he had yet to read, John sat on it one day to read the morning paper, after one of their first sleepovers, and when Sherlock saw him there, he immediately approved, realizing that all along that chair’s purpose had been to be _John’s._

 

But John still had his own apartment, near King’s Cross, which wasn’t far nor near from Sherlock’s flat, where he’d go maybe twice a week to find new clothes and do more serious work, that he couldn’t focus on with Sherlock’s constant presence around him. Sherlock had argued he could go to the room or the kitchen, and let John concentrate. “this is your place, love, I couldn’t ask you to move around just for my sake” 

 

If it was _their_ place, then John would be in all his right to tell Sherlock to go away. Sherlock would have all the right to protest, too, if so he saw fit. 

 

But this, too, was fixable, there was a second room upstairs, that Sherlock had never used more than for particularly loud or dangerous experiments, if they could turn that into an office, perhaps John could do his more serious work there. 

 

It was a convenience measure, at least that’s how the planned to sell the idea to John, wouldn’t it be better? They’d split the rent, that was already a good reason, John’s commute would be significantly reduced, Sherlock was willing to compromise space in the fridge for “actual food”, not to mention they’d share a bed, and they _definitely_ enjoyed sharing a bed. 

 

It was brilliant. The best idea he’d had in quite a while. Now, he just needed to get John to believe this as well. 

 

“Sherlock? love, are you listening to me?”  
“”Huh? no… sorry, you were saying?” 

“Here, it’s your present, all the way from Berlin” smiled the doctor, he gave the chemist a quick kiss, and handed him a medium sized package. 

“thank you, John, you didn’t have to get me anything” he said, only half-serious as he unwrapped the box.

“I know, I _wanted to,_ besides, I saw this and I immediately knew it belonged with you” 

Sherlock opened the box slowly, side-eying the doctor, if John’s excitement was anything to go by, he was certain he’d chosen something Sherlock would love…

“john… is this, wow, how did you get this?”

"I know some people" he smirked, dropping a kiss on the top of Sherlock's head "do you like it?" 

"Like it? John, God, I've wanted one of these since I was a child! They’re so rare, there's only six..." 

"Six of them in the world, I know, one of my old buddies from med school is friends with this German bloke who owns half of them" 

"And he just sold it to you?" 

"No" John laughed  "but as I said, it belongs with you; when I mentioned it was a gift for Sherlock Holmes he practically threw it in my hands, seems like you have fans all over the place, better watch myself" he joked

"You should well know that I don't care for anyone's attentions but yours. Everyone else is irrelevant and unnecessary" he said, seriously, but as a passing comment, never shifting his attention from the telescope in his hands. Before John could reply to the rather romantic confession, Sherlock was speaking again “…John, thank you, really, this is the most wonderful gift I've ever gotten" he stood up and kissed his good doctor, John kissed back, gleefully, but what he expected to be a short kiss was quickly growing in intensity. 

"Sher...Sherlock?" He questioned between kisses. 

"I want to show you, John, just how _grateful_ I am for your gift” 

 

John had no objections to that. 

 

 

One blowjob, three orgasms, and one joint shower later,  John retired to Sherlock's bedroom to continue unpacking some of his things, he'd have to pack them again later, he knew, he didn't live here, after all, but some of the stuff he'd brought was better off at Sherlock's anyways, it always came in handy to have clothes in this apartment, since he stayed over more often than not. 

 

“You should leave those here” he heard Sherlock say, from the doorframe. 

“Ah, do you mind if I do? Just for a few days…” Answered John, a bit awkward, it wasn’t _his_ place, and even though Sherlock seemed ok with it, he shouldn’t just barge in and move his closet over. 

“Of course I don’t mind” he said, stepping forward and hugging John from the back, resting his head atop of the doctor’s, enjoying how perfect they fit together. 

“Thank you, is just that, these shirts wrinkle awfully… I’ll take them back to mine by the weekend, promise” 

Sherlock frowned at his words, or rather, he frowned at the idea of John thinking of somewhere else as his place. _His_ place was right there, in Sherlock’s arms. 

Fully convinced of this notion, he gathered up his courage for the proposition he was about to make. 

“I’d rather have you not” he said, and John turned in his arms, looking up to him with confusion written on his face.  Sherlock drew in a breath, well, here goes nothing? 

“John, I think you should leave those wrinkly shirts in this closet, in fact, I think you should leave _all_ of your clothes in this closet, permanently. I… think, ah, I think we should make this _our_ closet.” He finished, hoping John would catch on the hint. 

The narrowing of eyes, followed by their seizable extension let the chemist know that he had. 

“Sherlock, are… do you mean?” 

“If you want to, of course” he was quick to add “I’d never want to pressure you into anything, but, well, it’d just be… convenient? I think, rent wise, and commute wise. Not to mention that I’d be the happiest chemist in the world to get to wake up next to you every morning, hell, it may even prone me to sleep more… and I know we’ve talked about your work but, ah, there’s the other room upstairs, if we’ll be needing two, for you to have an office or something, it can be arranged…” 

 

He couldn’t continue his ramble, because John had attacked his mouth in a furious, fast kiss, that didn’t miss the purpose of taking his breath away. 

 

“Is that a yes?” 

“Is that a… yes, yes, you madman, of course yes” smiled John, kissing him again “are you sure?” 

“Absolutely. Are you?” 

John smiled up at him again, eyes watery. 

“Of course I am, love. I think it’s a brilliant idea, I may have thought about it myself, I didn’t want to pressure you, though, and I know we are serious…” he blushed, they _knew_ it, they weren’t precisely vocal about it “but it’s different, you know, living with someone, it may change some things” 

“I know… I mean, I don’t _know,_ obviously, I’ve never been in this situation, but I have a clear idea, and my research does suggest it could change some of our dynamics as a couple” John chuckled, of course Sherlock had studied the topic in depth “usually, couples who live together accomplish a greater level of intimacy, it’s often consider a step before actual marital status, it suggests a level of commitment in the relationship, a sort of “test-drive” where many couples realize that perhaps they aren’t as compatible as they had thought, often ending in nasty break-ups.” He explained, John grimaced at the thought of a “nasty break-up”, the mere thought of _not_ having Sherlock in his life…

 

 “Nonetheless, I don’t believe it will impact our relationship negatively, you already spend plenty of time here, much to my pleasure; besides, I love you, and I am comfortable enough as to share these premises with you on a permanent way so… John, are you listening to me? You well know I don’t enjoy repeating myself” 

 

John’s frame - still loosely held by Sherlock’s arms - had gone stiff in a moment’s notice. And Sherlock could clearly see his eyes widening and losing focus while he spoke. 

It took the doctor a good few seconds to regain his speech, and even then, the best he could muster was a low, and flaky: 

 

“You… You _love_ me?” 

 

And well, f _uck,_ thought Sherlock. Had he really said it out loud? 

 

This was _not_ how he had intended to share this information with John, he’d just asked him to move in together, for God’s sake, Holmes, you may as well ask him to marry you, since we’re at it? 

And for the life of him, he couldn’t dare open his mouth, afraid he’d actually _ask._

 

He looked at John expectantly, not trusting himself, but hoping that the doctor would, somehow, understand how much he meant it, how much _yes_ he loved him. How desperately he wanted to be loved back. He’d put himself out there, accidentally, and now all he could do was await, quietly, for this wonderful doctor in his arms to be absolutely insane and maybe, _just maybe,_ love him back. 

 

“Me too” Said the doctor, softly, looking up to Sherlock with equally expectant eyes, it’d been a whisper, and Sherlock was certain he’d imagined it, until John cradled his face in his hands and got close enough to repeat against the chemist’s lips “Sherlock, I love you, too” he said, and he sealed his confession with a soft, _so soft_ kiss that, again, Sherlock was certain he’d imagined it. Until John kissed him again, and again, and again, and then he stopped counting, he stopped thinking. He just wanted to continue holding the crazy, _beautiful_ creature that was John Watson. 

 

John was amenable to this idea as well. 

 

 

-.-.-.-

 

It had a rather eventful day, they never did order that Chinese food they’d discussed earlier, and Sherlock knew John would be in a grumpy mood in the morning, complaining of being hungry, and how there was never anything edible in the chemist’s bloody fridge; they had a class the next day they hadn’t prepared for, they’d probably get hell at the university for that, too. 

Sherlock couldn’t say he cared about any of it. He’d take John out for breakfast, somewhere nice; their class started at noon, they’d figure something out, improvise, wing it. Something. 

Right now, at 2am in the morning, with John safely tucked by his side, a hand on his chest, soft puffs of breath coming off the blonde doctor, barely reaching his neck. Right this moment, Sherlock couldn’t say he cared about anything in the world that wasn’t John Watson.

 

John Watson, his lover, John Watson, his friend, John Watson, his college, John Watson, his roommate. 

 

Sherlock would give it time, because now was decidedly too soon, but he could already think of some other things he’d like to call John Watson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you thank you kindly for reading x x x

**Author's Note:**

> I just love the idea of Johnlock exploring a relationship in a mature way but, like, having insecurities because their characters should have insecurities even in a AU setting? although my Sherlock is way too ooc, I know, apologies, I'm working on it... 
> 
> Second one is almost done so hopefully up by next week, Happy New Year's everyone! Hope 2018 goes great for ya (:  
> thanks for tuning in!


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